Blind Leading Blind
by Fae Faythe
Summary: Cassandra Hart has been living on her own for years. There aren't a lot of opportunities for a blind teenager, especially not in Hell's Kitchen. But when fate brings the people of Nelson and Murdock into her life, including a certain blind vigilante, Cassandra learns that maybe not being able to see isn't such a disadvantage after all.
1. Cassandra

It's just been that kind of night. Matt's been acting weird, which isn't surprising he's always been weird, but today it was weirder. And Karen knows that the injuries from his "car accident" are still hurting him, even if he doesn't say anything. She's been seriously considering dragging him to the hospital to get his immune system looked at, because he should be healed by now. And Foggy….well. Foggy's been sneaking around with his soulless ex and pretending like she and Matt don't know about it. Not that she cares. Not that she had any kind of claim to him anyway. But it's been a shitty, shitty day and Karen is happy to be heading home. Unfortunately, Hell's Kitchen has a turning a night from bad to worse. In her case, it's in the form of a kid.

"Jesus shit," Karen swears, kneeling in a puddle of the girl's blood and whipping out her phone to call 911. The girl is conscious, but barely. "Hey, hey stay with me. Help's on the way, okay? What's your name, tell me your name." Karen has to fight to keep her voice steady. She's not the one bleeding to death in an alleyway. The girl groans and tries to move, but Karen forces her down. There's something buried in her side that is making the bleeding worse and her eyes are rolling in her head. "My name's Karen. What's yours?"

"Cass…Cassandra," the girl manages through the mouth full of blood. God, it's everywhere. "My…my name's Cassandra."

"Okay, Cassandra, help is coming, just stay with me, okay?"

"The kid," Cassandra grinds through her teeth. "What…where's the kid?"

"What kid?" Karen asks. "Cassandra, is someone else hurt?"

"They were…they were…" her voice strains as she tries to sit up again, twisting whatever is ripping into her side. Her breath is coming in short, quick gasps. "_Jesus_. Where…is he?"

"There's no one else here," Karen says helplessly, pushing her hands against the girl's side to stop the bleeding. Or try to anyway. Cassandra screams, her body convulsing once before her eyes flutter closed.

"Cassandra?" Karen shouts, trying to wake her back up. "Cassandra!" There are sirens in the distance but she doesn't know if they're for her. This is Hell's Kitchen after all.

* * *

Cassandra wakes to the mechanic beeping of a heart rate monitor. It doesn't take her long to realize where she is. Hospitals have a very distinct smell, like antiseptic and death and unshed tears and it's _everywhere_. How she got there is a different question. She doesn't remember much from before, just the copper taste of blood in her mouth and the screaming pain of being stabbed in the side with God-knows-what. She keeps her eyes closed, belatedly realizing that she's not alone in the room.

"You're awake." The woman from the street. Cassandra has to think for a moment before she can remember her name. Karen. Karen with the frantic voice. Cassandra struggles to sit up and Karen jumps to her feet. "No, you shouldn't move. The doctors say it's a miracle you weren't killed." Cassandra's mouth twists into a frown. Sure as hell doesn't feel like a miracle. It kind of feels like she got scraped off of death's door. "How do you feel?"

"Like I got stabbed," she replies, wincing. Talking hurts.

"They took a six inch piece of jagged pipe out of your side," Karen explains, moving to stand by the bed. "You're lucky."

"I feel lucky," Cassandra says, opening her eyes without thinking. Predictably, Karen sucks in a shocked breath and her heart jumps in her chest. "I've been told my eyes are a little unsettling…sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I can't see the look on your face." She can, however, feel embarrassment and guilt rolling off of Karen in waves.

"I'm sorry," Karen says quickly. Cassandra shrugs – or tries to, before pain radiates through her entire body.

"Ow. Shit. Don't be…" she trails off. Whatever they've pumped into her system is starting to make her feel woozy again, dulling her senses. "Thanks. For…stopping." Not many people do nowadays. Especially not for a skinny blind kid.

"Cassandra, is there anyone I can call?" Karen asks and it sounds like her voice is being filtered through water. "Do you have a family? A mom or dad to come get you?"

"No," Cassandra mumbles, her eyes fluttering closed again. "Just me."

She doesn't know how long she floats in and out of consciousness. Time is kind of hard to track when you can't read clocks. Her moments of sleep are drenched in wet blood and stink of metal and fear. When she finally wakes, it's a quick, painful wrench from the still and quiet. _God _she hates hospitals. The heart rate machine next to her is screeching, screaming in her ear and there's someone sobbing in the adjacent room. The whole building pulses with pain and heartbreak and illness and Cassandra can feel it all pressing against her skull. The pain medication has been blocking it out for her, but the drugs must be wearing off, because everything is flooding back in again.

This time it doesn't take long for her to sense someone in the room with her.

"Who's there?" she asks, her voice rasping and soft. "Karen?"

"Karen went home," a male voice says. "I'm Matt Murdock." There's a creak as Matt stands up and the familiar tap of a plastic cane on the floor.

"You're blind," she says. It's not a question.

"So are you. Good ears."

"You know what they say about the other senses compensating," Cassandra says before something occurs to her. "Do you even know Karen? Or did they just send a blind man to talk sense into the blind kid with a death-wish?"

"Well they didn't tell me you had a death-wish," Matt replies. Cassandra can hear his smile. "Yes, I know Karen. We work together." Cassandra waits for the lie. It doesn't come. "Can you tell me what happened? How you ended up in the street with a piece of pipe in your side?" Cassandra slowly pulls herself into a sitting position, gritting her teeth against the pain. Breathing deeply, she forces herself to concentrate, zeroing in on the vibrations filling the room and blocking out everything else. He isn't a cop; she doesn't feel the metal of a badge. But something about him is distinctly lawful. And something is very, very dark. She lets out a breath and relaxes, allowing the rest of the vibrations back in. The woman in the room next door has stopped crying but the air is still salty with saline.

"I was in the wrong place at the wrong time," Cassandra answers. Lies. "I was walking home and I got jumped. I'm not exactly intimidating." Blind and five-foot-nothing, Cassandra makes an easy target, but no one expects her to come out swinging. Who'd suspect a kid who can't see to be able to accurately throw a punch?

"Karen says you were asking about a boy when you passed out. Who is he?"

"There were several, they were the ones beating up on me," Cassandra lies again.

"There wasn't someone you were trying to find in particular?"

"I was just trying to get home," Cassandra insists, feeling irritation prickle under her skin. He doesn't believe her. It's rolling off of him in waves, clogging up the air.

"And where is that, Cassandra? Karen said that you don't have any family."

"God, you're from social services, aren't you?" she accuses, narrowing her useless eyes. Not that he can see them anyway but it's an old habit that's hard to get rid of. "Buddy, I'm nineteen, so if the nuns are still looking for me, you can tell them where to shove it." Jesus Christ. You run away from _one_ exorcism and the whole system collapses.

"I'm not from social services, I'm a defense lawyer." A blind lawyer? Finding legal books in Braille must have been a pain in the ass. "How long have you been homeless?" Cassandra bites her lip. She doesn't want to tell him. She's grateful to Karen for pulling her off of the street and getting her help, but she never asked for it.

"Almost two years," she answers finally, truthful for the first time. Usually she holes up in an abandoned theater by the river. It's safe and thoroughly dilapidated; plus, Cassandra made sure to spread a rumor that it's cursed. For someone like her, it's as good a home as any.

"That's a long time for a blind kid to be on her own."

"I can take care of myself."  
"Clearly, when you managed to get yourself stabbed walking to the home that you don't have."

"We can't all be defense lawyers. How do you stomach that anyway? Defending creeps and criminals?" It's a weak stab at changing the subject, but Matt takes it.

"I'm not that kind of lawyer. My partner and I only defend the innocent."

"And what if they're lying to you? No offense but you and I don't have the gift of reading body language."

"That's true," he says. "But sometimes you just know." Cassandra snorts. That doesn't sound like a good way to run a law firm. Then again, sometimes she can tell when someone's lying, despite being decidedly sightless. The silence stretches for a moment too long to be comfortable before a nurse bustles in, along with Karen and a man whose voice Cassandra doesn't recognize. She nearly gags on the smell of his cheap hair gel. Matt hovers unhelpfully as the nurse changes her bandages and asks her to rate her pain. With some luck, she should be out of here soon. Unfortunately, everything they've done to keep her alive is starting to rack up some serious bills and she's got no way to pay any of it. She's nineteen and homeless. Hopefully she can find a way to slip out and disappear without anyone noticing.

While the nurse takes out her IV drip, Cassandra clicks her tongue, following the vibrations as they bounce off of the walls and out the open door. It's a straight shot to the exit and the guard rotation in this hospital is slow and lethargic. It shouldn't be a problem to get herself out, provided she can snag some clean clothes and that no one sees her eyes. Not that she knows what they look like exactly, but they attract attention. Not everyone is as polite as Karen.

"How are you feeling?" Karen asks gently when the nurse leaves.

"Like I'm choking on hair gel," Cassandra replies. Whoever the new man is, he really needs to tone it down. "Buddy, I don't mean to be rude but that stuff reeks."

"Christ, she's got a nose like you do," the new man says and Matt laughs.

"Is it really that bad?"

"Yes," Matt and Cassandra reply together.

"Cassandra, this is Foggy," Karen introduces. "He's Matt's partner at the firm."

"Foggy?" she repeats. "They let you practice law with a name like that?"

"Technically my name is Franklin," Hair Gel says. "But the ladies call me Foggy." The temperature in the room spikes and Cassandra can only guess that Foggy winked. Office romance. Nice. The three of them stay for a while, making awkward conversation; none of them know what to say to her and it shows. Karen feels responsible for dragging her out of the gutter and the other two are just here to support her. Cassandra doesn't hold it against them. That Foggy guy is funny, even if he does smell, but there's something about Matt that bugs her. Something off with his signature that she just can't place.

Cassandra waits a few hours for the hospital to quiet – quiet is a relative term for hospitals. Even when the majority of patients are asleep, orderlies still bustle around, mopping, fixing, stocking. The groans of sick patients are endless and everywhere is the electric humming of the machines keeping people alive. Getting out of bed takes longer than she anticipates. She's been off of the pain medication for almost six hours and honestly, drugs sound like a great idea right now. If not for the pain, then for the vibrations. Everything inch of this building is vibrating with pain and misery and it is hurting her. Finally, Cassandra manages to slip out of the room, clicking and feeling until she finds a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt. They're too big, but they'll do. She's nearly out of the parking lot when she feels someone behind her.

"They had bets, you know," Matt says, his cane tapping. "On whether or not you'd run."

"Who won?" Cassandra asks, trying not to seem like she's been caught redhanded, which she has.

"Foggy. He's good at betting. Lucky for you, and the hospital, we took care of the bills and got you discharged. You're free to go."

"And you couldn't tell me that when the sun was up?"

"You made fun of Foggy's hair. He's a little sensitive about that. I've been told it's long and the ladies love it." Ah yes, Foggy and the ladies. Absently, Cassandra wonders if he knows about Karen's little crush, or if that's one of those things that she should keep to herself.

"Look," she says. "Tell Karen I said thank you. To all of you. I appreciate everything you've done for me, but I'm better off on my own." Cassandra doesn't wait for a reply, turning back towards the street. It'll take a while to get back to her side of town, but she can manage.

"I used to think that," Matt says, stopping her dead in her tracks. "I used to think that it would be better if I just went off somewhere and buried my head in the sand. I didn't get that far. Looks like you did."

"So what?" Cassandra asks. "Are you going to rescue me Mr. Murdock, attorney at law? Because I think that would _literally _be a 'blind leading blind' situation." He laughs.

"No. I don't think you need much rescuing, Cassandra. But I can give you a place to crash until you can find somewhere better. I've got plenty of space."

"You want me to just go with you to your apartment. I don't _know_ you."

"Would you believe me if I told you that Karen said the same thing? She was our client before we started working together, and someone was trying to kill her. I offered her protection and now I'm offering you a place to stay." He laughs again. "This time it's a little less stressful on my part." Cassandra tilts her head, feeling for the familiar pulse of a lie, of malicious intent. There isn't any. He's sincere.

"Fine. But this place of yours better be nice."

* * *

**So I have been sucked into Daredevil hell and this is what happened. Also I swear Cassandra/Matt isn't endgame, I'm not into pairing my OCs with the main characters. Hope you all enjoyed and please review!**


	2. A Day at the Office

His place is nice. Well, it's big. Cassandra follows the echoes of Matt's cane, dragging her fingers around the perimeter to establish the shape of the apartment in her mind. Why he needs this much space is beyond her but then again, the theater is enormous, and Cassandra doesn't take up much room.

"So how does a lawyer who only defends the innocent afford a place like this?" Cassandra asks when she finishes her tour. There can't be a lot of money in trying to defend people who actually haven't done anything wrong. Defending career criminals who are flushed with cash is a different story.

"I've been told that there's a very distracting billboard in the window. No one else wanted it, so I got it for cheap."

"Does that count as abusing your disability?"

"Probably," Matt says and she can hear his smile. "But finding a nice place in this city is next to impossible. I can deal with the bad karma later. The bathroom is down the hall if you want to take a shower. Shampoo and conditioner both have labels in Braille. "

"Are you telling me I stink?"  
"Not in so many words, but the hospital smell is starting to make my nose hurt." No

arguments there. "I'll have the guest room made up by the time you're done." Cassandra raises an eyebrow. A big fancy loft _and_ a guest room? He really did get this place for cheap. "If you need a cane, I have extras."

"I don't need a cane," Cassandra says, clicking her tongue for emphasis. She knows that it's rare, being able to get around without one, but it's helped her so far. If she wears glasses, most of the time she can pass for normal. Unfortunately, once the glasses come off, that falls to pieces.

She changes back into the stolen clothes when she's done, pulling her wet hair up into a messy knot on the top of her head. Getting the shower to work took a little experimentation, but she figured it out eventually. She can't remember the last time she had a proper shower; usually she makes do with stolen shampoo and waited for it to rain. She almost forgot what hot water feels like.

"You should get some sleep," Matt says when she emerges. "Sleeping is healing, isn't that what they say?"

"You got a lot of experience with stab wounds?" Cassandra asks. Matt doesn't respond and she feels a pang of guilt at lashing out. "Sorry. Force of habit."

"I understand," Matt says graciously. "Guest room's the door on the right. Sleep well, Cassandra."

"You too. And Matt?" Cassandra calls before shutting the door behind her. "Thank you." "You're welcome. Good night."

Sleeping in a bed is harder than she remembers. The closest thing Cassandra has at the theater is a musty old couch that is so hard she might as well be sleeping on the ground anyway. But the bed in Matt's guest room is cushy and soft and Cassandra's body sinks into it immediately, the mattress and blankets wrapping themselves around her like a cocoon. Or a tomb. She can't breathe; she feels trapped and every time her heart beats, the vibration rebounds at her until she feels like the whole bed is thrumming. Eventually she gives up, throwing off the blankets and curling into a tight ball on the floor. Not so good for her injuries, but she'll never fall asleep in the bed. Even then, she can hear arguing from the couple living downstairs, and across the street, someone is watching some kind of sports game on television and swearing loudly. Cassandra squeezes her eyes shut and tries to block it all out, going from one vibration to another and tracing each back to their source until she's so exhausted that not even the noise and energy from the city can keep her awake.

Karen and Foggy are in the apartment when she wakes up. Cassandra slowly uncurls herself, wincing at the soreness on top of the stabbing pain in her side.

"Good morning," Karen says cheerfully. "Or should I say, afternoon."

"Morning," Cassandra says sleepily, keeping her eyes closed. "'Sup Hair Gel."

"Come on I changed my brand!" Foggy complains. Cassandra laughs.

"Sorry, man. Am I wrong?"

"She's not wrong." Matt agrees. "I never wanted to say anything. I know how you love your hair."

"You're an asshole, Murdock," Foggy grumbles. "And since you're an asshole who can't cook and whose fridge only has beer and mayonnaise from the turn of the century, we brought some food. And some clothes for you, new kid." Cassandra thanks them and goes to the guest room to change into the clothes, running her fingers over the material. Cotton T-shirt and denim jeans. And Karen's got a good eye for size; they fit. Something is sizzling in a fry-pan when she reemerges.

"Please tell me the blind guy isn't cooking," she says, finding her way to a chair by a breakfast bar that hums with neglect. Apparently Matt doesn't do much in this place but sleep.

"Nope, that would be me," Foggy says. "You know, my mom wanted me to be a butcher." Karen and Matt both groan and Cassandra can tell that this is an oft-told story. "What? I would've been a great butcher."

"Too bad you're slumming it with us, taking down bad guys." Karen says, smiling.

"Hear, hear." Foggy replies. Cassandra raises an eyebrow, opening her eyes in the process. "Jesus." There's a crash and Cassandra jumps out of the chair. Something hot flies through the air right where she'd been sitting, landing on the floor with a wet sound. For a moment, there's just silence. "I am so sorry," Foggy says finally.

"No, it's on me," Cassandra replies. "I should've warned you. I really need a pair of glasses." She knows that her eyes are startling: Bright blue and slashed through with zigzagging scar tissues that have effectively obliterated her vision. She waits for one of them to ask how she managed to duck out of the way in time, but no one says anything. "So what's this about taking down bad guys? I thought there was some asshole in a mask doing that." The three of them pause, and Cassandra can feel unspoken words flying through the air around her. "Wait. You guys _know_ the Devil?" Cassandra doesn't exactly have a lot of time to listen to the news, but everyone's been talking about the maniac running around Hell's Kitchen. He was the one who blew the hell out of her neighborhood – or so everyone thought until the Devil took down Wilson Fisk.

"We don't know him, per se," Karen explains slowly. "But he saved my life. And gave us evidence on Fisk that helped implicate him." So they're working with the masked idiot who'd tried to take on some of the most powerful crime organizations in the city. What kind of lawyers are they?

"Wow. And here I was thinking that a career in law would be boring," Cassandra says. Not that she ever considered it. Before Matt, she never thought that becoming a lawyer was even possible for a blind person. Besides, she doesn't have a high school diploma – the minute she turned eighteen, Cassandra packed what she had and ran away from the orphanage. It helped that they were going to try and exorcise her. Cassandra always thought that she should be honored; the Catholic Church rarely does them anymore. She's just lucky like that.

"Maybe it would've been, if this idiot hadn't convinced me to start our own practice." Foggy says.

"Good thing for me that you did. I was their first client." Karen says. There's some clattering as whatever Foggy's making is dished onto plates, along with something that smells like pancakes. "It's pancakes and bacon," Karen tells her, setting the plate down. Score.

"I think this might be the first time I've ever eaten a home-cooked meal in this place," Matt says around a bite of food. "Damn. You might have to rethink this whole law thing Foggy. This is good."

"Your surprise wounds me," Foggy replies but he sounds pleased. Cassandra doesn't join in the conversation, too busy attacking her own food. She hasn't eaten anything this good in years. Her meals usually come from shelters, or anything she can steal from bodegas or convenience stores. No one ever suspects the blind kid of stealing; she might as well be invisible. Cassandra uses it to her advantage.

"So speaking of work," Foggy says once everyone's finished their food. "We actually have to get going. There's a client coming in an hour."

"You're welcome to come with us, Cassandra," Karen offers. "It might be a little boring, but I think it beats hanging around here all day. You and I can pick up a pair of glasses while they're in the meeting, if you'd like." Cassandra pauses suspiciously, her first thought that they don't want her here because they don't want her to steal anything. But Karen doesn't resonate with anything but sincerity. She means it. Foggy thinks that she might take off with something, but she can't blame him. She'd be wary of a homeless kid hanging out in her best friend's place too. Part of her wants to say no. She can't afford to get attached and the more she spends time with these people, the more she likes them. Karen and Foggy, at least. There's still something about Matt that nags at her, running shivers of suspicion down her spine. But the other two…

She can't get attached. She still has unfinished business with the assholes who beat her into the ground. Then again, it's not like she's in any shape to go back there, and if she's being honest with herself, this is the nicest place she's going to have to rest and heal. Maybe ever. It wouldn't make sense to give it up before she has to.

"That would be great," she says. "I've never been to a law office before."

"Don't get excited. It's smaller than this place." Matt says. Cassandra shrugs. Still beats sitting around all day.

Matt wasn't lying. The office _is _small, but Cassandra likes it immediately. There's good energy here. Recent triumph is still hovering in the air. Probably from their victory against Fisk. There's also a sense of loss, hiding under the surface. It's distracting, but Cassandra shoves it all aside when Karen leads her around the office, allowing her to run her fingers over everything, getting a sense of the space. It's easier than using echoes; they're so easily disrupted by people or other vibrations. Cassandra prefers to find her way by touch. Karen sets her up with Matt's iPod and a pair of headphones and Cassandra plug in, losing herself in the music for a while. Blocking her ears doesn't exactly make the world go quiet, but it's a start. The vibrations are still there, pounding at her skull, all demanding attention that she can't spare without going completely insane, but not being able to hear helps.

"Can I ask you a question?" Karen asks when she and Cassandra hit the street, heading for a shop down the block. She makes sure to keep her eyes downcast to avoid freaking anyone out. Matt told her not to worry about the cost. Apparently the owner owes him a favor.

"I was born like this," Cassandra answers without waiting for the question. It's a lie, but it's easier than the truth. People usually don't pity her as much when they think she's lived her whole life without sight.

"That's not actually what I was thinking," Karen says and Cassandra flushes with embarrassment. "How do you get around so easily? Matt uses his cane but you're able to just walk around without any problem."

"Well, not completely," Cassandra hedges, making sure to stumble over the step when Karen opens the door to the shop. She clicks her tongue and the sound bounces off the walls quickly, as well as several glass cases and racks. "It's sort of like echolocation. If I click or clap my hands, or anything like that I can sort of get an idea of where things are around me. It's not concrete and it doesn't work with anything mobile, but it gets me where I need to go. Also works with people who have really shrill voices, but that always ends up giving me a headache." She leaves out the bit about the vibrations and energy that clog the air like smoke. Cassandra's never been a case study in normal, but even she knows thather little talent is freaky. Besides, they're more often a hindrance than anything else, distracting her even while they amplify her ability to move around without knocking into anything.

"That's amazing," Karen says. Cassandra shrugs.

"I think being able to see would be a little better, but I do what I can with what I've got."

"So what about this place?" Karen asks. "Can you get around here without help?" Cassandra nods and clicks again, moving past Karen to touch over the counter on the right.

"There's another counter over there," she says, pointing. "And a couple of racks in the corner. And then there's you behind me and the guy at the counter." The guy staring very obviously but she didn't mention that. She shouldn't be able to know that. "That's all."

"That's amazing," Karen repeats. "You have a gift, Cassandra."

"I wouldn't go that far. But it gets me where I need to go." It's also very much why she hasn't died yet. Without her weird little quirk Cassandra knows that there's no way that she would've survived so long on her own. It's also what made the nuns think that she and Satan were BFFs. "Unfortunately, I still can't actually see. You mind passing me some glasses?" Karen obliges, selecting a few pairs off of the racks and handing them to her. Cassandra traces the frames with her hands and tries each on, finally settling on a pair of Ray Bans that Karen approves of. The man at the counter only waves them out the door when they try to pay.

"Thank you," Cassandra says quietly when Karen opens the door for her. She's been saying that a lot these last couple of days.

"It's my pleasure." Karen talks idly as they walk back to the office and Cassandra holds her head high, finally able to make her way around without ducking and skulking. Which doesn't help her much when she nearly runs into someone right outside of the office.

"Watch it _puta_," a horribly familiar voice spits and Cassandra freezes, the man's energy crashing over her like the tide. "Learn to fucking walk." Cassandra doesn't reply, just skirts out of his way.

"Asshole," Karen mutters under her breath. "You okay?"

"Fine," Cassandra says, lying. Her mind is occupied with memories of blood and pain and _that voice_. Andre's voice. "That's Hell's Kitchen for you." Thankfully, either she doesn't notice or isn't willing to push but Karen doesn't mention it again.

"Excuse me," Cassandra says, feeling a man in the hallway and stepping around him before she can knock into him too. She's off her game today. "Sorry."

"No problem," the man says before stopping and taking a longer look at her. Cassandra fought the instinct to duck her head. "Why, you're blind as well, aren't you? Good for you, getting ahead despite your disability. You _and_ Mr. Murdock." He pats her on the shoulder and keeps moving and Cassandra can only stand there, dumbstruck.

"So are we going to talk about the fact that your client is an ablest asshole?" Cassandra announces, shoving the door open.

"Oh you mean the guy who insinuated that I passed the bar because of pity? Yeah," Matt says jokingly, but his tone is dark. "What did he say to you?"

"He congratulated me on rising above my disability. He actually said that. Those words. To my face." Cassandra had been insulted plenty of times but this is the first time someone's actually thought that what they were saying was constructive, even positive. Idiot. "Maybe I should hang out here more often. Make the clients feel grateful that they're not _disabled_. Or if worse comes to worst, I could always just sit here and put my hands on their faces, peering into their souls like no one with sight can." Cassandra knows that she's getting too emotional, but that guy was a something else, and being so close to Andre so soon after what had happened is putting her on edge.

"He's an idiot," Foggy says dismissively. Cassandra can still feel Matt seething. Guess ignorant comments still sting, even when you're older. "But if you are going to stick around, you might as well help Karen. We've got ourselves a case!"

Cassandra doesn't complain about being put to work. Honestly, it helps to keep her mind off of everything. It's a miracle that Andre didn't recognize her, but then again, after the beating he and his boys laid down, he probably thinks she's dead. He's got another thing coming. Karen explains everything that has to be done and everything is labeled in Braille, so after that it's just going through the motions. It's a late night, peppered with phone calls that Cassandra isn't allowed to answer after she snatched the phone the first time with a cheerful: "You've reached the law office of Blind and Hair Gel, how may I direct your call?" The caller hung up. Around eight, Matt orders Thai food from a local joint, promising that it's the best in the city. Cassandra agrees by default; she doesn't have anything else to go on. It is some pretty good food though, even if she does prefer pancakes.

Around midnight, they pack up and leave. Cassandra almost wishes that they didn't have to go. This whole day…it just felt normal. Good normal. Matt, Foggy, and Karen, they accepted her into their lives without a second thought even though none of them should have trusted her for a minute. It's amazing.

It's bad for her. Cassandra can't afford to get used to this. They're a weird little family and she's already too close. Karen hugs her and Foggy claps her on the back before she and Matt head back to his place and Cassandra makes her choice.

As soon as she can hear steady breathing coming from Matt's room, Cassandra throws open the window and makes her way down the fire escape as fast and as quiet as she can. No one will be surprised that she disappeared in the night; they all had her pegged as a runner. Maybe they'll worry about her injuries – which still don't feel great, but she'll manage. T

This is the only thing she can do. It's the best thing to do. Besides, Cassandra thinks, palming the knife she grabbed out of Matt's kitchen, she's got work to do. This time, she's going to bring him home.

* * *

**So I totally got carried away, so you all get 2 chapters in a week. Please don't expect this of me every week and please forgive me if my posting is irregular. Finals are coming up and I'm in real hell as well as daredevil hell, so be kind. Review and tell me what you think! 3**


	3. Nicholas

This time, Cassandra doesn't announce herself. That had been arrogant and stupid and had almost gotten her killed. This time, she sneaks in through a window, shimmying up the fire escape of the adjacent building and picking her way across the ledge. The window is open and Cassandra slips inside, staggering against the wall the moment her feet touch the ground.

"Shit," she breathes. Or tries too. She knew that a crack den would be bursting with energy, but she didn't expect anything like this. The air is clogged and congested with pain and addiction and ecstasy. Every person inside is humming, sending out enough vibrations to obscure any advantage she has. Two of them are precariously close to overdosing, their hearts hammering loud enough to make her wish she was deaf instead of blind. Cassandra can't see, but now she can't _see_ either. She can't bounce sound off of her own hand here, let alone another person. Cassandra swears again, pulling her hood over her hair. Everyone here is too lost in their own heads to notice her, but even junkies might react to her eyes. Cassandra left the sunglasses back at Matt's place. They're as good a goodbye note as any.

Slowly, she makes her way through the building, trying not to choke. Nick is in here somewhere, she can feel it, but she just can't _find _him. God, she has to get him out. He's _fourteen_. Fourteen. Cassandra's stomach twists painfully. She should have never left him. She should have just stuck it out, sucked it up until she was eighteen and they could get away together.

"Nick?" Cassandra whispers, feeling his signature pulsing in a haphazard heap at her feet. She falls to her knees, stroking her thumb over his cheek. "Nicholas, can you hear me?" He doesn't answer but his head lolls under her touch. The air around him is congested, slow-moving and deadly. Cassandra runs her fingertips over the inside of his elbow, feeling the raised pinpricks of track marks. "Fuck, Nick, can you hear me. Nick!"

"You think he's going to answer you, _puta_?" Cassandra stands slowly, cursing herself and this place for not noticing Andre's presence sooner. He's not alone. There are at least three with him. "That kid's so doped up I don't think he's ever comin' down."

"I'm taking him with me," she says without turning towards them.

"Don't think so," Andre says, radiating confidence and she can hear metal clinking behind him. One of his boys has a bat, another is holding a chain. Cassandra curses under her breath. "Clearly you didn't learn the first time. I think you need another lesson." Cassandra inhales deeply through her nose, fighting to shove all of the distractions away and focus. She ducks out of the way of Andre's fist as it flies towards the back of her skull, dropping to the ground and sweeping her leg in a low arc. Even that hurts, straining injuries that haven't had a chance to heal. Andre flings curses at her as his feet as knocked out from under him and he hits the ground. Cassandra doesn't have time to celebrate. One of the guys lashes out with his chain and she throws up her arm to protect her face, shouting out when the metal locks around her wrist. Something cracks in her arm and Cassandra nearly bites through her lip to keep from screaming. Baseball Bat swings as her as she tries to untangle herself and Cassandra spins, ripping the chain out of the guy's hands, and uses it to block the blow. She flinches away from the horrible screech of metal-on-metal and Andre uses her distraction to slam his fist into her side, opening up the stitches there. Cassandra groans and whips the chain at him, but she's too off-balance. The bat comes in contact with the backs of her knees and she screams, going down hard. Cassandra barely has time to suck in a breath before her world dissolves into pain and fists. She curls into the tightest ball she can manage, unable to tell where the next blow will come from. Someone must have pulled a knife because she can feel blood leaking out of her body from violent tears in her skin. The pain is blinding. Literally. She doesn't know how long it goes on for, time blurring into moments of agony stretching out forever.

"We're going to kill you, and then we're going to kill your boy." Cassandra's eyes snap open and she screams. Somehow she manages to get to her feet again and throws herself at Andre, slamming her fist into his nose. The coppery sound of his blood mingles with hers in the air, but her triumph is short-lived. Cassandra freezes at the very distinctive sound of the safety of a gun clicking off. Half a second ticks by and she manages to get one clear intention through the mess of vibrations in the building.

"No!" Cassandra shrieks, throwing herself sideways. Not away from the gun, towards it. Andre's not shooting her – he's aiming at Nick. The bullet slams into her, knocking her into the wall and the air from her lungs, and Cassandra falls to the ground beside Nick's limp body.

"Nice trick," Andre says, and she can hear the sneer in his voice. "Bet you can't do it twice." Cassandra tries to breathe and fails, gasping shallowly. She can't tell where the bullet is; she can't even feel it. She can't feel anything, and the world is slowly going quiet. The vibrations disappear one by one and the energy she's been choking on since she stepped inside vanishes. Within seconds the only signature that she can feel is Nick's. Nick, who's five years younger and followed her around for weeks until she paid attention to him. Who helped her when everything got too loud and too busy and she felt like her head was going to explode. Who she abandoned when she left the orphanage without a second glance. Who's here, hooked on drugs and about to be shot because she abandoned him. She never should have left. She should have taken him with her.

Fighting the pain and the sudden exhaustion that threatens to pull her under, Cassandra winds her fingers through his and closes her useless eyes. She braces for impact that doesn't come, hearing the sickening _smack_ of fists against flesh. For a moment she isn't sure if she's the one being hit – her whole existence is a mess of pain and sensory overload. The gun goes off, once, twice, three times, and Cassandra pulls Nicholas' body against hers, trying to shield him from whatever's going on. Warm, sticky blood coats his skin, but Cassandra is fairly certain it's hers.

"We're okay," she mumbles out of the corner of her mouth, blood dribbling out the corner. "We're okay Nicky, we're okay." He groans, the first sound she's heard him make, and Cassandra realizes that there is something very very wrong with him. The resonating beats of his heart are waning, growing weaker with every moment that passes. "Nicky…" she says, grabbing for his face, trying to shake him, but she can't move.

"Cassandra!" She hears the word like it's being shouted from a distance. The word is echoy and slow and it takes her a long time to realize that it's her name. "Cassandra, can you hear me?" Absently, she feels herself being lifted off of the ground, her hand pulled from Nick's and that's when she starts fighting. Or, trying to.

"Let…let me down," she mumbles, thrashing weakly against the iron grip holding her. The words take all of the breath she can spare. She can't tell who it is – she can't even hear their heartbeat. She can't feel her own anymore. "Nick. Help Nick. Let me go…_help him_!"

"I can't. He's gone, Cassandra." _He's gone_. The words echo in her ears, but Cassandra doesn't hear them. With all of the strength she has left, she searches for Nick. She reaches out for the smell of sunlight and the sound of laughter that always tells her that he's near, even when he's silent. Searches for the signature of the little boy who made her feel less like a freak. But there's nothing. No vibration, no energy, nothing. He's gone. _He's gone_.

Cassandra lets go. Someone shouts her name but Cassandra's hearing slowly fizzles out and the quiet claims her.

* * *

She doesn't expect to wake up. The number that Andre and his crew did on her should have killed her, and part of Cassandra knows that she deserves it. Nick is dead. She felt the life bleed out of him and listened as his heartbeat lapsed into terrible silence. She doesn't want to wake up.

But she does. The world filters back in slowly, like sand through a sieve. Hearing first, then the vibrations and energy fill in the gaps. And then there's pain. Cassandra bites her lip to keep from crying out as each and every one of her injuries reestablish themselves. It's like being attacked all over again, only worse because now along with the stab wounds and bullet holes, fresh bruises have formed and she can feel her skin desperately trying to knit itself back together. Her ribs are groaning from the strain and she can hear the sickly crunch of bone grinding against bone. At least two of them are broken, one is fractured, and the rest are bruised.

None of it compares to knowing that Nick is dead when she's still alive. He's dead. The thought makes every other hurt feel like a paper cut in comparison. _Nicky, I am so sorry, _she thinks miserably. _This is all my fault_. Cassandra sucks in a breath that lights her chest on fire, wishing that they'd just let her die.

Once she has a relative handle on the pain, Cassandra allows herself to survey her surroundings. It's quiet here, and there's good energy, but violence lurks beneath it. Where the hell is she? The city thrums right outside the walls but Cassandra is too weak to get a specific location. The vibrations all blur together in a mess of energy and sound and Cassandra is powerless to sift through any of it. It all just crashes over her head like so many tons of bricks and she has to fight to keep from letting it overwhelm her.

"Explain." A woman's voice breaks through the cacophony and Cassandra focuses on it, pushing everything to the background. "I am fine with patching you up, but you can't just drop kids off at my doorstep and then disappear again." She's talking about her. Cassandra doesn't know this woman, she's a stranger, but the person she's addressing is not. His signature is familiar; dark and secretive and – "Matthew. She is a _child_. And did you think I wouldn't notice that she's blind? God, her eyes. Are you recruiting now? Did the Devil of Hell's Kitchen need a blind teenage sidekick because _that is what it looks like_."

"No of course not." Cassandra recognizes Matt's voice immediately but she can't believe it. She's got to be hallucinating. He…he can't be the Devil, he's blind. There's no way he's able to run around kicking ass all night when he can't even see.

_You can't see either_, a small voice whispers in the back of her mind. _How do you explain what you can do_? The nuns thought she was cursed; that no one whose sight had been taken by God should be able to get around like she could. Cassandra learned quickly to keep her abilities to herself – she didn't even allow herself to contemplate them for fear of going insane – but it was too late by then. They thought she was possessed, cursed. Cassandra is starting to think the same.

"Who is she?" the woman demands.

"Her name is Cassandra," Matt says softly. "Karen found her beaten to a pulp and took her to a hospital. She's got nowhere else to go so she's been crashing with me, and when she ran, I followed her. I didn't know where she was going and I'm sure as hell not recruiting, Claire."

"What was she _doing_?" the woman, Claire, asks. "I haven't seen anyone beaten that badly since…since you. It's a miracle that she's still breathing." Cassandra scowls. She's heard that before and it has never felt less true than it does now.

"Nicholas," she breathes, opening her eyes. The voices stop and she knows that they hear her.

"Cassandra," Claire asks and Cassandra can feel her kneeling by her side. "Cassandra, can you hear me?"

"Yes," she murmurs. The smell of blood clings to Claire's skin, mingling with the sharp tang of antiseptic. "You smell like a hospital."

"Good nose. My name is Claire. You're safe, okay? I fixed you back up, you're going to be alright."

"Matt," Cassandra hisses through her teeth. Claire stills. She's not supposed to know that Matt's here, let alone that he's been running around in a mask at night. She shouldn't be able to sense him from across the room, or hear Claire's heart pick up when she says his name. Everything hurts and the combined pain and pressure from the vibrations threaten to drag her under. "Where's…Matt?"

"Here," he says after long pause. "I'm here." He doesn't want to be. Everything starts to fade again but she can feel the indecision and regret rolling off of him. She knows his secret now. Cassandra mumbles something unintelligible and he moves closer, until they're just inches apart. She turns her head so he can hear her better, pain radiating down her spine.

"Fuck you," she spits. "You should've let me die." His shock is the last thing she feels before she falls into oblivion again.

The next time, Cassandra wakes violently, yanked from unconsciousness like she's been electrocuted. She jumps to her feet and makes it three steps before the pain catches up to her again. It's not as bad as before, but still enough to nearly knock her off her feet. Cassandra staggers to the side, catching herself on the wall before she can fall over.

"Whoa whoa whoa," Claire's voice appears at her side and Cassandra flinches away. "Hey, you need to sit down." Claire takes her elbow and guides her to a chair.

"Yeah and you need to stop yelling." Christ she's loud. Everything is too loud. Cassandra inhales through her nose, trying to filter out as much sound as she can. Every sense is screaming for attention and she can't focus on it all. Claire is humming with concern and compassion and she's choking on it. "Get away from me," Cassandra snarls. "God, _get away_." She doesn't know what's wrong with her, but her ability has been thrown into overdrive. Claire backs off and Cassandra stumbles back to her feet, ignoring Claire's warnings. Everything hurts, everything is pulsing and humming and vibrating and she can't block it out, any of it.

"Cassandra, you're okay," Claire is telling her but she sure doesn't feel okay. Cassandra backs into a corner and slides to the ground. She pulls her knees to her chest and tries futilely to cover her ears. "What's happening? Are you hurt?"

"Shut up!" Cassandra mumbles against her knees. Claire keeps her distance but Cassandra can still hear every heartbeat like they're gunshots going off in her ears.

"What are you hearing?" Claire whispers and Cassandra breathes at the manageable volume.

"Everything." Traffic, children screaming in the street, the pipes groaning in the walls. Somewhere a baby was crying. Cassandra can hear electricity crackling in the air and the televisions from at least half a dozen apartments blaring at what feels like top volume. It isn't what she can hear that hurts; it's everything else. For the first time, Cassandra doesn't have to make a single noise to follow vibrations off of the walls. Her own heart is doing it for her, and everything else fills in the gaps. This is Claire's place; it seethes with care and medical expertise and _Matt_. His dark, lawful signature is everywhere. She's been taking care of him when his fights as the Devil end bloody. Which is very often if the coppery tang in the air is any indication.

"What can I do?" Claire asks desperately. "Cassandra, what can I do to make it stop hurting?"

"Shut up!" Cassandra shouts again, her own voice reverberating her ears. "Just shut up!" She can't think, her thoughts scatter the instant they take hold; she can't _breathe_. Her chest constricts and she can't tell if its from the pain or from the pressure building on every inch of her skin.

Cassandra doesn't know how long she's stuck there, trapped inside her own head, but when a second voice starts screaming inside the apartment, it almost pushes her over the edge.

"I don't know what to do," Claire whispers helplessly. "I can't talk to her or else she starts screaming. I can't go near her to make sure that she's not bleeding internally. I don't know what to do."

"It's not physical," Matt says and there's something in his voice. He comes closer, his footsteps sounding like cannon fire, and Cassandra snatches a mug off of the table next to her and hurls it at him. The crash makes her wince and only adds to the pain.

"Get away from me," she hisses.

"Cassandra I need you to listen to me." He's trying to keep his voice down but Jesus Christ even his presence is hurting her. "Focus on my voice, just my voice."

"I can't. There's too much"

"I know it hurts, but try to filter everything else out. Work your way through it, outside to inside." Cassandra spits a curse at him but tries. She'll try anything. Holding her breath, Cassandra slowly sifts through all of the sounds and vibrations, acknowledging the ones from outside before shutting them out and moving just to what she can sense inside the apartment. Finally, she forces those away too, focusing singularly on Claire's apartment. The walls still hum and she can still hear both of the adults' heartbeats and every breath they take, but its manageable. Well, more manageable than before. "There you go," Matt says. "Breathe. Everything you can hear will fade into the background, you just need to breathe."

"It's not just what I hear," Cassandra spits through her teeth. "It's everything _fucking _else."

"What else?" Matt asks, radiating confusion.

"Nothing," she snaps, slowly pulling herself to her feet.

"Look I don't know what that was, but I need to make sure that she didn't rip her stitches," Claire whispers to Matt, oblivious to the fact that Cassandra can hear her.

"They're not," Matt says. Cassandra agrees; she can't feel any broken medical thread, although the sound of her ribs grinding together is starting to give her a headache.

"So," Cassandra says finally, zeroing in on Matt's signature and glaring him down. If he's got abilities like she does, he can feel the weight of her stare. "You're the man in the mask. You're the big hero."

"I'm not a hero," Matt contradicts. Cassandra snorts, then winces as pain rattles down her spine. She doesn't disagree. "I'm just trying to do some good."

"Then you should've saved Nick," Cassandra spits at him. "You chose wrong, hero. You chose wrong."


	4. Lesson Number One

Between Matt and Claire, Cassandra isn't left alone for more than three minutes over the course of the next week. Claire is more concerned that she's going to hurt herself, but Matt's got his secret to worry about. If Cassandra tells the world about what blind Matt Murdock's been doing in his spare time, he could go to jail. Last time she checked, vigilantism is against the law.

Cassandra doesn't speak to either of them, too focused on trying to keep her ability from overwhelming her. It's always been bad, but never like this. Only once, she allows herself to wish that Nick was there to help her, but the grief is so intense and so violent that she nearly loses control all over again. She doesn't think of him again. To her credit, Claire tries to help, but she's got no idea what to do and Cassandra won't let her close enough to try. She's been changing her own bandages under Claire's guidance and knows that she's worried about her. Cassandra can't bring herself to care. Nick is dead, she's trapped here, Claire is stuck with a patient that doesn't want to be saved. Life is tough all around.

"How did you get mixed up in all of this?" Cassandra asks nearly a week later. Everything is healing but the worst of her injuries still hurt like a bitch. Claire startles at Cassandra's sudden departure from silence. "You're normal. How does a normal person get involved in the life of a blind vigilante?"

"I found him," Claire says and Cassandra swears that she can hear her smile, "in the garbage outside of my building." Cassandra snorts. Trashcan hero. She should've seen that one coming. "And he was hurt pretty bad, so I patched him up."

"Apparently you're a magnet for blind people who don't know when to stay home."

"You could say that. I've never seen anyone take beatings like you two." Cassandra scowls, not liking being compared to Matt. He's insane, she's just…cursed. "Cassandra, can I ask you something? Something personal?" Slowly, Cassandra nods. If she doesn't want to answer, she'll just lie.

"Did someone hit you when you were younger?" Cassandra stops, blindsided. She'd been expecting any sort of question about the nature of her blindness or the freaky behavior from a few days ago, but nothing like this.

"How can you tell?" It's not an answer but it's all she can manage at the moment.

"Matt told me," Claire answers softly. "He said you've got all kinds of old injuries on your ribs, face, hands. All of that speaks to abuse. It also explains why you can take as much punishment as you did – experience."

"And how does Matt know all of that?"

"He can hear it," Claire says. "He says that broken bones sounds like old ships."

"They sounds like ghosts," Cassandra says. She's always thought that, and her body is filled with them. "And yeah, I got hit a lot. Apparently Christian goodness doesn't apply when you're possessed by the devil." For a while, Cassandra believed it too. How else could she explain everything that had happened to her? How else could she explain how she's able to know exactly where things are despite her ruined eyes? Or how she knows what someone is thinking from another room? If she's not possessed, then what the hell is she?

"So you're an orphan? There's no one out looking for you?"

"Nick," Cassandra says quietly and it's amazing how a single word can completely shatter her concentration. Cassandra grits her teeth and shoves all of it back again, shaking her head as if that can stave off the pain. She's never been good at controlling her emotions and if she can't keep it together she's going to go insane. She needs to stay in control.

"Are you okay?" Claire asks, positively humming with concern. It's no wonder she picked Matt out of the trash instead of calling the cops – Claire radiates with compassion and care. It's going to get her killed. Cassandra cocks her head, listening.

"You've got ghosts too," Cassandra says, trying to change the subject. "Newer than mine. You get hurt because of him?" She doesn't answer, and that's all Cassandra needs.

"Were you trying to get him out? Nick?" Claire asks, flinging the ball back into her court. Cassandra flinches at his name, quickly sealing up the crack in her concentration.

"Yeah. He was in that hellhole because of me. I figured it was the least I could do to try and get him home."

"And where's that?"

"Nowhere," Cassandra replies bitingly. "But anywhere would have been better than that place."

"It's not your fault, what happened to him," Claire says finally after several long minutes of silence. "You almost died trying to save him." _I should've died with him, _Cassandra thinks bitterly, but she doesn't say anything. She's already said too much. No wonder Matt keeps Claire around: she's a natural-born interrogator. Claire says something, but Cassandra shuts her out just like everything else. The hours pass slowly when she's locked inside her own head but it's not as if she's got anywhere to be. Still, the sounds of her body trying to heal are starting to make her crazy.

In the end, Cassandra pretends to sleep. Matt never shows up for his shift of watching the blind kid with a death wish, so when Claire's convinced, she goes to bed as well. Once Cassandra can hear her steady breathing from the other room, she abandons the pretense, opening the window and slipping out into the open air. Cassandra scrambles over the rooftops, figuring that they're safer than the streets. She gets exactly one block away before she feels someone coming up behind her.

"I can't see it, but I'm willing to guess that the outfit makes you look like a real asshole," Cassandra says, sensing Matt before he can announce himself. Matt and a hell of a lot of leather.

"I've been told that it's a little much, but it's better than what I wore before."

"My compliments to your personal designer," Cassandra says coldly, wondering who's head he had to bash in to get a custom made super suit. "I'll be seeing you around, hero."

"What exactly are you planning to do?" Matt asks.

"Getting away from you seems like a pretty good first step."

"And then what? You keep living on your own, day to day? Running away from everything you can't control? Waiting to snap like to did before?"

"What's your brilliant plan then? You going to give me a home? Pass on your wisdom of being blind and still being able to fight crime because 'you don't need eyes to see injustice.' That sound about right?"

"I don't know about all that, but I think I can help you."

"I don't need your help," Cassandra spits. "And I don't want your help. I don't care about the double life bullshit you've got going on here. Be a lawyer, be a vigilante, be a hooker for all I care. Pretend to be blind when you're running around at night with a very uncanny sense of direction, it doesn't make a difference to me." Cassandra turns to go when Matt speaks again.

"I am blind. As blind as you are. I can help you find out what happened to your parents, Cassandra. And your sister." She doesn't wait to gage his reaction; just flies back towards him, slamming her fist into his jaw. Matt doesn't dodge or move to block it and her knuckles come away bloody.

"You shut the fuck up about them," Cassandra hisses, clenching her fists. "I don't care _what _you can see coming, hero, if you talk about them again, I will kill you. What the _fuck _do you think you know?" It's a rhetorical question.

"I know that you weren't born like this," Matt continues, ignoring the fact that Cassandra's dark worldview has gone crimson with rage. "I know that there was an attack that took your family and your sight. I know that you're angry and scared and I know how much it's hurting you."

"You don't know anything," Cassandra snarls.

"I know that whatever's going on in your head, it extends to more than just amplified senses. You _know_ things, Cassandra, things that even I don't know. Things you should not be able to know."

"Shut up!"

"I know that I can help you, if you let me. I can help you control everything that's hurting you, and when you can control it, I can help you find who took your family from you."

"And if I say yes? What the hell do you get out of it?"

"I would have never made it if someone hadn't helped me. He taught me how to control my abilities and how to fight. I wouldn't have survived if he hadn't taken care of me." There's fondness in his voice, but also a bitter edge. However that had ended, it wasn't well. So he's trying to recreate his relationship with his old teacher, only trying to do better.

"He left you." Cassandra says. It's not a question. She can feel it. "You know, abandonment is a 'history repeats itself' kind of thing." She knows that she won't be able to handle being left out on the cold, not again. It had almost killed her the first time.

"Cassandra, if you let me help you, I swear I will keep you safe. It won't end like it ended for me. Listen to my heart and tell me if I'm lying." Cassandra cocks her head, but she can't detect a single fluctuation in the steady beating in his chest. He's telling the truth. She doesn't answer at first, weighing her options. She doesn't trust him. Truthful or not, he's a stranger with abilities like hers that he uses to wail on bad guys. Someone like that's got to have issues. But then again, he's offering to teach her how to control everything she senses and feels, as well as opportunity to get the bastards who killed her parents and Jane.

"Fine, I'll play along. For now. What's the first plan of action?" She can hear his smile before he says a word.

"We go back to Claire's and thank her for helping keep you alive. And in the morning, you apologize to Karen for running off." Cassandra winces. That's not going to end well.

* * *

"Thank God you're okay," Karen says when Cassandra walks into the office the next morning, sunglasses perched on the bridge of her nose. "We were so worried when you disappeared and…what the hell happened to your face?"

"Ran into a door. Apparently, the universe likes giving me black eyes. I think I just have one of those faces." Cassandra says cavalierly and Karen hums with worry.

"Hey, me too," Foggy adds and some of the tension drains. "In case you couldn't tell, K was a little worried about you. We all were."

"I'm sorry I ran off," Cassandra says softly. "I'm…uh, I'm not good at this, any of this."

"You don't have to apologize," Karen says, sweeping her into a tight hug. Cassandra fights her instinct to push away. Jesus, Karen really _was _worried. It's clear in every beat of her heart. "We're just glad you're back safe. And since you _are _back…" Cassandra winces at Karen's smile, knowing before she says a word that whatever's coming isn't going to be fun.

It's a kid. Apparently, one of their clients couldn't get a sitter, so she had to bring her daughter to the office.

"Raquel, this is Cassandra," Karen introduces and Cassandra knows that she's enjoying this. Still, she can't complain. Cassandra had expected tears. Being saddled with a kid is better than tears. "She's going to keep you company while you're mom's in a meeting, okay?"

"_Si_," the little girl replies and Cassandra listens as Karen's footsteps disappear into the conference room. "I like your _gafas_."

"_Gracias_," Cassandra says awkwardly. She doesn't do kids.

"Why are you wearing them indoors? There's no sun here."

"I can't see," Cassandra explains. Which, apparently, is the most fascinating thing Raquel's ever heard because she erupts with questions. They're fired at her so fast that Cassandra can barely keep track of them all and tries to answer as best she can.

"If you can't see, how do you get around?" Raquel asks. Cassandra hesitates, trying to find a way to explain it to a child.

"Can you keep a secret?" she asks, leaning in. Raquel mirrors her eagerly. "I'm a little psychic." The little girl's smile immediately sours and she folds her arms over her chest.

"You're a liar."

"Am not," Cassandra replies, mimicking her tone and silently reflecting on her choices. This is what it's come to. Arguing with a six year old. "I can prove it. Hold your hand out, okay?" Raquel extends her little hand suspiciously and Cassandra runs the tips of her fingers over her palm. It's mostly for show, but touch does help concentrate the vibrations. "So. If I'm lying, how would I know that you had peanut butter and jelly for lunch? Or that your favorite color is purple? By the way, does your mother know that you've got a secret candy stash in your room?" Cassandra grins as Raquel gasps aloud. Most of it is from what she can smell and less what she can sense, but it's convincing.

"You _are _psychic!" After that, it turns into a game. Raquel grabs everything and anything she can get her hands on, and Cassandra tells her where it came from. It doesn't matter if she's right or not, the little girl is awestruck. For Cassandra's part, it's as simple as touching something to sense where it's been. And when she's only focused on the objects in front of her, everything else fades to the background without her having to force it away.

"_Mami!_" Raquel shouts when her mother finally comes out of the meeting. "_Cassandra es mágica_." Cassandra blushes.

"_Si?_" Raquel's mother says indulgently.

"_Si! Ella es psíquica," _Raquel says.

"_Es cierto_," Cassandra says, trying to play it off. "High-five." The little girl smacks her outstretched hand. "Later kiddo."

"You're really good with her," Karen says when Raquel and her mother leave.

"You speak Spanish?" Foggy asks. "Does every blind person in this firm speak Spanish?"

"Half of this city speaks Spanish," Cassandra replies. "Don't you fancy lawyer types have to take a language?"

"I took Punjabi," Foggy says. "The girl in my class was hot."

"And I'm sure it's got lots of real world application."

"It does so have real world application I will have you know – " Foggy starts, backing into the front desk and knocking a mug off of the table. Cassandra steps back, allowing it to shatter on the ground by her feet. "Jesus Christ, I'm so sorry." Foggy says, but there's something in his voice that catches. And he's looking at Matt funny; Cassandra can feel the weight of his stare. Foggy and Karen disappear, presumably to the other room to grab a dustpan.

"Nice save," Matt says softly, barely moving his lips. Cassandra rolls her eyes. Old habit, hard to break.

"Please. I'm blind, not stupid. I didn't think your first lesson was going to be one in condescension." Cassandra knew better than to react to things she shouldn't be able to see. Once, one of the nuns saw her catch a kid who tripped over his own feet and they beat the hell out of her for it. Or that's what they thought they were doing. Apparently, making sure a ten year old doesn't fall flat on his face is the devil's work. It had taken more than a few beatings, but eventually she'd gotten the message. Be blind, or get hit.

"I am so sorry," Foggy says, coming back in with a broom. "Careful Cassie, I don't want you to get cut."

"Cassie?" she asks, carefully backing away.

"I'm trying something new." Cassandra bites her lip, more focused on the weird energy she's reading from Foggy than the nickname. He's watching Matt, disapproval and suspicion clouding the usually bright air around him.

Oh. He knows. He knows about Matt's little side life and doesn't approve. Interesting. Cassandra catches a few more concerned looks her way, but Foggy doesn't say anything and neither does she. Foggy's feelings about Matt's violent alter ego aren't any of her business and Cassandra learned a long time ago not to stick her nose where it didn't belong.

"We'll see you tomorrow morning?" Karen says at the end of the day, standing in the doorway of Matt's place. Hesitation makes her voice wobble.

"Bright and early," Cassandra says and she can feel Karen's relieved smile. "Hey, I told you I wasn't running off again. You guys are stuck with me. Godspeed to you."

"Good," she says and the air moves when she nods, mostly to herself. "Good. Okay, see you then." Karen's just closed the door when something comes flying at Cassandra's head. She swats it away, flinching away from the shattering crash that follows.

"What the hell?" she demands, hearing Matt standing in the kitchen.

"You were supposed to catch it."

"Was I? Some notice next time, hero," Cassandra snaps. This time when he throws two long objects at her, she catches them. They're just sticks. Cassandra frowns, nearly dropping them when the energy spirals into her palms. Blood and pain and betrayal flash in her mind's eye. Jesus, there's some bad juju wrapped up in these. "I don't think it needs saying, but you've got issues man," Cassandra says, shaking off the dark energy.

"So how exactly does it work?" Matt asks and Cassandra leaps aside as he rushes her. He's got sticks of his own and one whistles dangerously close to her head.

"What is your _problem_?" she demands, raising the stick to block the next blow. The force sends a jolt of pain down her arm.

"Answer the question. Multitask. What do you feel?"

"Beside that my arm is going to fall off?" Cassandra snaps, swearing when the stick whacks against her skin.

"It's just – " Cassandra says, ducking out of the way. "It's energy. When I touch things – " She brings her stick up and Matt smacks her with the other one. "Ow. Jackass. I just feel things, okay? It's not like it's an exact science." She jumps aside again.

"Stop dodging and block," Matt says, smacking her again. "And you didn't answer my question."

"They were yours," Cassandra says, swearing when a blow knocks her off of her feet. "Son of a bitch. Someone stabbed you in the back, someone you trusted, and you got your ass kicked. God, there's blood everywhere."

"And you can sense all that, just from touching those?" Matt extends a hand to help her to her feet and Cassandra swats it away, standing on her own. Old injuries ache from the strain and she grits her teeth.

"Everything gives off vibrations. Memories, energy…Whatever. I can feel all of it, like pressure building in my head."

"You need to learn how block it all out without hurting yourself," Matt says, lunging at her again. This time, Cassandra successfully blocks the attack, only to catch a fist in the stomach. She stumbles backwards, clutching at her abdomen, her cheeks flaming red with embarrassment. He's kicking her ass, and to add insult to injury, he's obviously pulling his punches.

"You don't say? Gee hero, I wish I'd thought of that before."

"You are exceptionally defensive, has anyone ever told you that?" He doesn't attack, just circles around the living room and Cassandra tries to match him step for step.

"Well when you got the shit beat out of you for being a blind freak, you tend to put walls up. Three cheers for old-fashioned Christian discipline. But I bet you don't want me badmouthing the Church, do you choir boy?"

He doesn't take the bait. Which is unfortunate, because Cassandra was pretty proud of figuring that out. He doesn't wear a cross, but Cassandra caught the slightest whiff of incense that brought back all kinds of unpleasant memories.

"Focus on me," Matt says, stepping towards her. "My intentions, my movements. Learn to separate everything in your mind."

"You don't think I've tried that?" Cassandra complains.

"You've never had the right kind of incentive. Consider this your first lesson." This time, Matt attacks in earnest and Cassandra barely has time to scramble away. She curses under her breath. It is going to be a very long night.

* * *

**So what do you all think of Cassandra's deal with Matt? Comments make my days brighter 3**


	5. Training

Somehow, things fall into a relatively stable and completely bizarre, routine. Cassandra's days are spent at the law office, helping Karen with the paperwork and nursing whatever punishment Matt had laid down the night before. He's still using training wheels and Cassandra's learned to be grateful. She's sore enough without him actually trying to hit her.

At night, things are a little different. Every lesson is new, so Cassandra never has a chance to gain her bearings. But damn does it keep things interesting. Most often it's sparring, which consists of Matt beating the crap out of her while she feebly tries to get in a few hits of her own. Sometimes he starts vaulting over rooftops and expects Cassandra to follow him without falling and killing herself. Cassandra might not be great at fighting yet, but she's been running for as long as she can remember. Adding death-defying stunts to the mix just make things more interesting, and as long as she's moving, Cassandra's able to keep her ability at bay. Unfortunately, once she finally gets used to something, or starts improving, Matt springs a meditation on her.

Which is terrible. He insists that mediation will keep her alive, help with healing and focusing everything that she can sense, but it's all a bunch of bullshit. No matter how much she just sits on her ass and holds her hands above her knees, Cassandra can't seem to wade through the noise in her head.

"This is important, Cassandra, focus."

"Then throw something at me," Cassandra says through her teeth. "I can control everything better when I'm moving." It's been nearly three months and she still hates meditating with a burning passion. Running over rooftops was never much of a stretch and at least she's improving when it comes to hand to hand, but sitting around and thinking of calming water or whatever she's supposed be doing is a waste of time.

"You need to learn how to control it on your own."

"I _am _on my own," Cassandra mutters. Even from sitting in the middle of the living room, she can feel Matt glaring. "_Fine_," she says, closing her eyes. Not that it matters, but Matt says that closing her eyes will help her concentrate. But whenever she lets her thoughts quiet, everything rushes in and she feels like her head is going to split in two. Sirens, screams, televisions blaring inside apartments whole blocks over…everything starts clamoring for her attention. Not to mention the emotions coursing through every single person in Hell's Kitchen pulsing through the air and trying to crash her under the weight of it all. Inhaling through her nose, Cassandra tries to sift through everything, working from the outside in, like Matt taught her. She's never really thought about how far her reach extends, too busy trying to shut it all out realize exactly how far away she can sense things. But now, forced into silence and contemplation, Cassandra stretches to the very end of her amplified senses, feeling an agitated hot dog vendor over a half mile away, griping at a customer that doesn't want to pay full price. Idiots. Cassandra's fingers twitch as she filters them out, moving to the next block, and the next block, and the next, until she's finally back at Matt's loft. She makes a cursory sweep of the building, noting who's awake and who is sleeping soundly. A child's dreams press against her consciousness and Cassandra flinches. She's never been able to do that before. Finally, she makes it back to the apartment, absorbing the violence and anger that cling to the walls, but also feeling the echoes of Foggy and Karen too. And someone else, someone Cassandra hasn't met yet, but it's the same signature that still clings to her practice sticks. Old and mean and bloody.

And then there's Matt, who's sitting across from her. His legs are crossed and his hands are held on his knees, and he radiates calming energy. Cassandra nearly jumps out of her skin when she finally notices him. Jesus. How long has she been wandering around in her own head, and how hadn't she sensed him moving in front of her?

"How far away were you?" Matt asks without moving.

"Twelve blocks. Thirteen? Half a mile or so."

"That's impressive."

"How long was I gone?" Cassandra asks, stretching her arms above her head.

"Almost an hour." Shit.

"Explain to me why that's a good thing? I really don't think the ability to completely dissociate is going to be all that helpful when I'm running away from cops or trying to kick someone's ass." Cassandra says, unfolding her legs and standing up. Without warning, Matt leaps to his feet, throwing a punch that feels like it's going in slow motion. Cassandra blocks it without so much as a second thought before grabbing his wrist and kicking off of the ground, the heel of her foot slamming into his chest. Matt stumbles backwards half a step before launching at her again. Somehow she catches two of the blows and gets in another of her own before his fist hits her squarely in the chest.

"Tell me about Mr. Dorian," he says calmly, standing still.

"Apartment 228, snorer. Lives alone, really likes lavender." Cassandra says, expanding her senses to Dorian's apartment instinctively. "Holy shit." It usually takes ungodly amounts of focus to get that kind of information, not to mention the fact that she _actually _managed to hit Matt fair and square for once.

"How's the pressure in your head?" Cassandra pauses, waiting for the pain to come roaring back the moment she stops concentrating, but suddenly the energy and vibrations are calm, waiting just outside of her mental focus to be accessed. She can still hear and smell everything from three blocks away, but it's like her senses have organized themselves into what's necessary and what's not, all on their own.

"Holy _shit_!" Cassandra shouts. She can't remember a time when her head hasn't been pounding, and now it's all just gone. "It worked!"

"The wonders of old world medicine," Matt says, and she can tell that he's pleased. "Now that you've laid the groundwork, with some more practice, you should be able to access your ability whenever you want instead of the other way around. Expand it too."

"Wait, I'm going to be able to sense _more_?" Cassandra says, the elation fizzling out and dying. "I am getting radio reception from hell from over half a mile away and you're telling me that it's going to get worse? What if I snap? What if all of a sudden I lose it and all of Hell's Kitchen falls on my head?" There's no way she'll survive that. She can barely handle losing it as it is.

"Hey, breathe." Matt says, laying his hands on her shoulders. Cassandra fights the urge to flinch away but the onslaught of energy she's used to is calm and manageable for the first time. "If you keep making progress like this you'll be able to deal with it. And soon you'll be able to center yourself without formally mediating. Okay?"

"Okay," Cassandra says finally. He's telling the truth.

"Good. Now go to sleep, you've earned it."

"And where are you going, hero?" Cassandra asks. He doesn't answer. Typical. Ever since he pulled her out of Andre's place, Matt's been silent about his ass-kicking extracurriculars. He hasn't told her anything, and while Cassandra could care less, it's not like she sleeps all that much anyway, and being left alone in the apartment night after night is boring.

Unfortunately, following Matt is out. Cassandra may be able to sense more than he can, but she's got nothing on his hearing. She wouldn't make it three steps behind him before he noticed and stopped her.

Well, futility has never stopped her before. Cassandra waits nearly a half hour before she follows Matt out the window. She doesn't exactly have a superhero costume, but jeans and a black hoodie will have to do it. Humming with concentration, she locks onto his signature and follows it, musing about how little she knows about her weird mentor. Matt has issues, that's for damn sure, but so does everyone. Maybe it goes hand in hand with thinking that dressing up like a literal devil will solve anything, but he keeps his secrets close to the chest. Cassandra can't fault him that; she does the same thing, but that doesn't stop her curiosity. She's gotten used to being able to read people without a moment's hesitation, but he's a black hole in her mind's eye when it comes to emotion. She doesn't know how he's doing it, but he's blocking her out somehow. It's a neat trick, and very annoying.

Cassandra stops when Matt does. She's a few blocks behind, tracking him by signature alone so that he can't hear her. Or so she hopes. He's closer to the docks and she cocks her head, focusing like he taught her to try and see what she's about to run into. She can't lock onto it exactly, but Hell's Kitchen is prime real estate for human trafficking, so whatever's in those huge crates she feels, it's probably people. Half of her wants to turn around, her curiosity gets the best of her and she creeps forward. It's not until Cassandra gets closer that she can smell something sickly in the air. Heroin, and not just powder. It's mixed with blood. People. There are people in those crates, doped to the gills. It's exactly what Nick smelled like when he died.

Whatever progress she's made vanishes the instant she thinks about him and she stands, exposed and completely frozen, until she hears something click behind her. There's something unique about having a gun pressed to the back of your head, something singular. Thankfully, it's also something that snaps Cassandra out of her own mind and into motion. Without thinking she turns in a whirl, ripping the gun out of the guy's hand and smashing her fist into the side of his head before he can fire. He goes down without another sound and Cassandra bolts, running without much of a destination in mind.

"_Help_," a female voice murmurs and Cassandra skids to a stop, a starburst of energy appearing in her mind's eye. It takes a moment to realize that the girl is speaking in Russian. International human trafficking. People are upping their game around here.

"_Come with me_," Cassandra says. Her Russian's a little rusty, but the girl seems to get the picture. A big, imposing figure rushes at her back, sending off vibrations that she could see from a mile away and Cassandra spins, slamming the butt of the gun into his chin. The man howls but doesn't fall, swinging at her with huge, meaty fists. Cassandra ducks out of the way, darting aside and hitting him with the gun again. The girl screams from behind her and Cassandra's focus shatters.

"_Please,_" the girl is saying as another man holds a gun to her head. Cassandra hisses in pain as thick arms constrict around her chest. "_Please, please help me_." Cassandra spits curses but she can't squirm free. The man with the gun shouts something at her, but Cassandra doesn't hear it, too busy registering Matt's signature suddenly behind her. The big man drops her, screaming in pain and Cassandra shoots out of arms' reach. Something flies through the air and Cassandra catches it without a thought, recognizing the smooth grip of one of their sparring sticks. Acting on instinct and not much else, Cassandra hurls the stick straight ahead, gratified when it smacks smartly into the middle of the gunman's forehead. He staggers backwards, momentarily losing his grip on the girl and then two things happen at once: The girl runs for her life, sobbing in Russian, and the man fires.

Cassandra throws herself out of the way, but she not fast enough. The bullet hits her hard, sending her sprawling, and she bounces off of one of the metal crates before sinking to the ground. The man prepares to fire again, this time aiming to kill, but Matt gets to him first.

"I'm fine," Cassandra insists when he's done. He's vibrating with nervous energy and she swats his hand away, pulling herself to her feet and swearing. Wow, that hurts. Cassandra claps her hand to her shoulder and her fingers come away bloody. "Son of a bitch."

"What the hell were you thinking?" Matt shouts, gripping her arms and Cassandra realizes that she _wildly _misread the emotions rolling off of him, so hot that they're practically boiling the air. He's not worried, he's pissed.

"Let go of me, jackass," Cassandra snaps, hissing with pain when Matt just digs his fingers into her skin. A black wave of pain crashes over her head and Cassandra wobbles dangerously on her feet. "Gunshots hurt." She's vaguely aware of Matt lifting her off of her feet and then she's being unceremoniously dumped onto the couch back at his place.

"Oh no no no," Cassandra says, coming to her senses in time to feel Matt looming over her with an enormous syringe. The liquid inside reeks and Cassandra all but smacks it out of his hand. "I don't do drugs." They make her senses go completely wonky, or worse, strip her of them completely. She doesn't know which is worse.

"I need to sew you back up and you don't want to feel it."

"It's a through and through," Cassandra protests, searching for the metallic tang of a bullet and coming up empty. "Just stitch me back together, I'll be fine." Matt glowers but stows the syringe and trades it for a needle.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Matt says finally. Cassandra hisses with pain as the needle threads through her torn skin.

"I was thinking that I was bored," Cassandra says obstinately.

"You know I can hear you lying." Matt says, tugging the thread and Cassandra spits a curse.

"I was following you to see if I could," Cassandra says, taking care to keep her breathing in check. It's not a total lie.

"You could've gotten yourself killed."

"I didn't."

"You got shot! That girl almost got shot because of you. Jesus, you're so stubborn, what was going through that thick skull of yours – "

"You're just pissed because you didn't hear me coming," Cassandra snaps, deflecting. There's no way in hell she's going to tell him why she stayed. "Hey, if I'd be getting the crap kicked out of me for as long as you have, I'd be irritable too. And in case you hadn't noticed, the girls are fine, I'm fine, and you're fine, so I don't know why you're making such a big deal out of this." Matt ties off the stitching with a yank that's way harder than necessary.

"Unbelievable." Matt doesn't say another word but storms out of the apartment. This time, Cassandra doesn't follow. She doesn't think she'd be able to manage it even if she isn't sure that Matt would murder her for trying. For all her cavalier attitude, the pain and blood loss was starting to get to her. She might have to rethink her policy on painkillers because _dammit it hurts_.

Cassandra doesn't make it to the guestroom, falling into a fitful, uncomfortable sleep on the couch. She's never been plagued by dreams – being able to see always seemed like an important part of dreaming – but tonight Nicholas's voice floats in and out of her consciousness, and for the first time, she can see his face.

"You let me die," he accuses. Cassandra can't stop staring. His blue eyes are narrowed with hate and distrust, but all she wants to do is run her hands through his blonde hair. "Cass, you let Andre and his thugs kill me. It's your fault."

"I'm sorry," Cassandra whispers, reaching out for him, but her hands pass through his skin like he's made of smoke. Or she is. "God Nicky, I am so sorry."

"You were the only family I had and you left me all alone in that place, and when I went to look for you, _they _found me first."

"I had to leave, you know that," Cassandra says brokenly, feeling like something in her chest is about to snap. "Nicky, they were going to hurt me, you know that."

"They wanted to help you!" Nick flings at her, eyes blazing.

"They wanted me dead!" Cassandra shouts back, flinching away from the accusation. She forgot about eyes, and how you can see everything in them. How the hell do people lie to one another when the truth is spelled out for anyone to see? "They were going to kill me and make it look like an accident. They thought I was the devil. They thought I was cursed."

"You _are_ cursed!" Nick screams and Cassandra staggers away from him like she's been struck. "Everyone around you dies. Everything you touch goes to hell. You killed me and I wasn't the first, and I sure won't be the last. You are _poison_ Cassandra Blake!"

"No!" Cassandra shouts, startling awake and finding herself in familiar darkness. She jackknifes off of the couch, swearing violently when her shoulder screams with abuse. Son of a bitch. For a strange moment, Cassandra has no sense of where she is in the room, or what time it is. Or where Matt is. How long has she been asleep? After what feels like forever, her senses filter back to her and she can feel a blanket and pillow lying in a heap on the floor. No doubt Matt's doing even though he's mad at her for being insane and she's mad at him because he's acting like an ass.

Whatever. Careful not to rip her stitches, Cassandra pads into the kitchen and smacks Matt's fancy talking clock.

"It's eight a.m." Matt says with the mechanical voice of the clock, appearing out of his bedroom. Cassandra whirls at the sound of his voice, wincing when her shoulder twinges. "You've been out for almost twenty four hours." Shit. Then again, she was up all night and is now sporting a brand new hole in her skin that wasn't there before. Not to mention the hell-dreams that stretched on for what felt like forever.

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"Because you got shot and you can't reinjure yourself when you're asleep," Matt says matter-of-factly. Cassandra wants to hit him. "I told Karen and Foggy you were feeling sick and I was looking out for you for the day." Good cover story. Couldn't have lawyers knowing that the Daredevil had a protégé.

"Well thankfully I'm feeling better and we should be getting to work." If she stays in this apartment for an hour longer, she's going to go crazy. The walls pulse with her anger and his aggravation, and it's like reliving the fight all over again.

"You okay to go in today?"

"I'm fine." Cassandra stands and makes to go into the guest bedroom to change.

"Do you want to talk about the nightmares?" Matt asks before she gets more than a few steps away. "You were yelling in your sleep."

"Mind your damn business," Cassandra growls, slamming the door behind her.

If Foggy and Karen notice the tension, they don't say anything when Matt and Cassandra show up at the office. Karen just asks Cassandra how she's feeling and everything proceeds as normal. No wonder Matt's been able to get away with this for so long. People who can see don't notice a goddamn thing.

Or so she thinks.

"What the fuck did you do?" Foggy demands of Matt when he thinks that Cassandra and Karen can't hear him. Well, Karen can't.

"Foggy." Matt says evenly.

"Don't 'Foggy' me, man. She's like you isn't she?"

"Foggy – "

"You don't think that after all the shit you've put me through I wouldn't notice that she's favoring her left arm? Or that you've both been acting cagey and weird for weeks." Cassandra curses under her breath. Foggy knowing about Matt's escapades is none of her business, but now he knows about her too. Fantastic. As if she needs another well-meaning, disapproving moron to tell her what to do. She's half ready to walk into the conference room and tell Foggy to butt the hell out when there's a knock on the door.

"Cassandra, you mind getting that?" Karen says absently from where she is at the computer. Cassandra turns to the door and throws it open before the signature of the person behind it nearly knocks her over.

"Perry." Cassandra says leadenly, her voice dripping distain. "Long time, no see, asshole."


	6. Andrea and Ricky

"Andrea?" Perry says, shock coloring his voice before ugly, crimson rage colors the energy around him.

"Andrea?" Foggy parrots, coming out of the conference room. Matt's soft footsteps follow. "Wait, you two know each-other?"

"I thought you were dead," Perry says, ignoring him. Cassandra can practically feel his lip curling.

"I'm sure you slept better. How's your sister, by the way?" she asks, knowing it'll strike a nerve. Perry's glower deepens and Cassandra ducks away before he can say anything. "Karen, you mind if I step out? This is above my pay grade." She doesn't wait for a reply, clicking her tongue and skirting around Perry's tall form. He still looms over her like some kind of obnoxious vulture. It's not hard to do. Cassandra hangs a left out of the office, pulling open the window and slipping out onto the fire escape. The air is thick but anything's better than inside with Perry. Not to mention that Foggy is now prying into her business and she's still pissed at Matt.

"Jesus, how did you get out here?" Foggy's voice comes from the window. Cassandra doesn't say anything; he already thinks he knows the answer. "Come inside, we need to talk to you."

"Who's we?" Cassandra asks evenly.

"All of us." Slowly, Cassandra follows him inside, resenting the concern that pours off of his skin. Concern and dark irritation, most likely aimed at Matt. Foggy doesn't approve of him running around in the mask, but involving a kid would be so much worse.

"You're bleeding," Foggy says the split second before Cassandra smells the blood. Shit. She can feel where the broken medical thread rests against her skin. "Jesus Christ, Cassie, what the hell happened to you?"

"Hey you already think you know the answer to that question," Cassandra says, zipping up her hoodie before the blood can stain through. "Don't let me give it away just yet." She pauses, chewing on her lip. "Don't tell Karen. Please." Foggy doesn't get a chance to answer before Perry's presence practically clubs her over the head.

"Nice seeing you Andrea," he says. "I'm sure everyone will be real happy to know that you're still alive." Cassandra's blood goes cold and she shoulders past him, purposely shoving her injured shoulder into his side. She makes sure not to wince until he can't see her.

"That is some bad blood," Foggy mutters. He has no idea.

"You going to explain how you know that guy?" Karen asks when she and Foggy come back inside. "And why he called you Andrea?"

"It's my middle name, I used to go by it. And why, did he say something?" Cassandra says, trying to play it cool. She shouldn't have reacted so badly, especially if she doesn't want them prying into her personal life, which she doesn't. What is with these people that they get so _invested_ in one another? She understands Matt – he thinks he's got to save her or train her or whatever. But Karen and Foggy? They don't have a stake in her future, they're just outsiders who don't know how not to care.

"He didn't have to say anything." Matt says. Cassandra has to fight to roll her eyes, not that anyone would see through her sunglasses.

"He's a – he's just a guy I used to know."

"Just a guy who looked like he was going to sock you when you mentioned his sister." Foggy grumbles under his breath.

"That's probably because he's a homophobic piece of shit and his sister and I used to date. And when he found out, he sent her to some kind of camp to be 'reprogrammed.'" And then Cassandra had destroyed his car.

The shocked silence is predictable. Between the blindness and the freaky senses, Cassandra's sexuality is the least interesting thing about her, and it's not as if she's had too much time to date. Lyn was the exception.

"We're dropping his case," Karen says fiercely and Cassandra pauses, swallowing her next scathing remark. What?

"Consider it dropped," Foggy agrees. "Jesus it's 2015 and you've still got homophobic assholes like that running around?"

"Did you ever see her again?" Matt asks softly.

"Never." Cassandra hasn't thought about Lyn in years; her or Perry. The last thing she ever expected was for him to show up here. "And don't drop his case. It was a long time ago and it's not like you have a lot of clients to begin with."

"We're a new firm," Matt says. "That means we need to set an example for our clientele now. Like Foggy said, it's 2015, and we're not putting up with it."

"Thanks," Cassandra says softly. "That's…it's – thanks."

"Don't mention it," Karen says, touching her shoulder gently.

"So all of those time I caught you glancing wistfully in my direction…" Foggy jokes and Cassandra's mouth all but drops open.

"Did you just pun both my disability and my sexuality? Time and place, man, time and place."

"What, too soon?"

"Way too son." Foggy laughs and Cassandra laughs with him. She doesn't know why, but they care. They care enough to turn away a client because of her. That means something.

"You can't fault a guy for trying to lighten the mood." Cassandra smiles before she can help it. Whatever she's got here, it's worth sticking around, no matter how annoying Matt may be when he's glaring down at her from his high horse. The phone rings and the moment passes, but Cassandra can't help but feel like she's got something here. Everything goes back to normal, until she pops another stitch in her shoulder reaching for a file. She quickly excuses herself and flees into the bathroom before Karen can see or Matt can smell the blood. Cassandra's already pulled her shirt off and is halfway through changing the bandage when the door flies open behind her.

"Wow okay are we not knocking now?" she says, spinning away from the door and crossing her arms over her chest. More to hide the bullet hole than save her propriety at this point.

"You're bleeding," Matt says by way of explanation. That seems to be the winning phrase of the day. "And I've felt some of the patch jobs you've done on yourself. Let me help."

"You're not still pissed?"

"You were stupid and reckless and you got yourself hurt," Matt says, taping her shoulder back up and Cassandra wants to hit him. "But I overreacted. And I know whatever the reason you stayed, it was more than just because you were bored."

"Whatever you say sensei," Cassandra deflects. "Foggy's got my number now, doesn't he?"

"That's one way to put it. He thinks that I went out looking for recruits." So had Claire.

"Yeah and does he think that there's just a group of us running around with no eyes and weird senses waiting for you to pick us up?" Cassandra hadn't even known that someone like Matt was even possible before he saved her life. She thought she was the only one. "God do I have to talk to him about it now?"

"That's your call, but he's going to worry. And Foggy's a loud worrier." Cassandra groans. Fantastic.

"Fine I'll talk to him. But if this leaks to Karen she's going to kick both of your asses."

"Yeah I know."

* * *

Cassandra waits until Foggy's alone in the conference room to say something. Hopefully Matt will take her lead and keep Karen occupied.

"Can I talk to you?" she asks, softly shutting the door behind her.

"You going to tell me how you got that love tap on your shoulder?" Foggy asks. Apparently he's out of jokes. Cassandra doesn't answer for a moment, trying to think through her response. She's no good at this. The sharing. She never has been. Foggy twitches, and without so much as a "think fast" there's something flying at her face. She doesn't hesitate, her hand flying up to grab the pen out of the air before it can stab her in the eye. Not that it would make anything worse. "I guess that answers my other question."

"And what's that?" Cassandra asks, knowing the answer.

"Are you like Matt? You can see without seeing or whatever?"

"Should I have opened with that?" Cassandra says shortly. "Hi, I'm Cassandra. I'm blind, gay, and also a freak. Thanks for not letting me die on the side of the road." She winces at the venom in her words. She really is terrible at this. "Yes, I'm like him, just worse."

"Worse?"

"Yeah, worse." Cassandra pauses. "You know that nothing is actually still, right? Everything is vibrating at different frequencies. It's why you can break glass with your voice if you sing a certain note."

"So what? You can sing?"

"Not even a little but that's not what I'm talking about. I'm not good at this okay, so bear with me. Everything vibrates and everything has energy. Where it was, what it was used for, who touched it last. People vibrate too, and I feel all of it."

"I'm not following."

"This pen?" Cassandra says, waving it at him. "You stole it from another law firm, someplace you were for a long time. Matt uses it more than you do and not for much more than his signature. Obviously, his handwriting isn't so good."

"No fucking way," Foggy says. "No way you know all that. How is that possible?"  
"I'll let you know when I figure it out," Cassandra says. "It's…it's a lot. On top of the insane senses, it's constant sensory overload."

"So when Ms. Martinez's kid was saying that you were psychic she wasn't kidding."

"I'm not psychic," Cassandra insists. "I'm just…tuned in."

"God, where did you _come _from? Were you born like this?"

"No." Cassandra. The truth for once. If Foggy does any kind of research, the attack will come up; it's public record. She really needs to have someone wipe her file. "If I was born like this, I think I'd be a little better at controlling it. Matt's been helping me."

"Is that hole in your shoulder a result of him helping?" Foggy asks, seething with disapproval.

"No that was me being stupid." Cassandra admits. "I stuck my nose where it didn't belong and I got hurt. But I'm not getting into the vigilante business, believe me. I'm just trying to get a handle on things."

"And then what? What's your endgame here? You master all four elements and then take off again? Try to do it on your own?"

"Nah," Cassandra says, ignoring the reference she doesn't understand. "I'm just trying to get a handle on all of this before I lose my mind and believe me it's a close thing sometimes. But beyond that I have no idea." Lie. She's going to find the asshole that took her family. "I dunno, maybe try to get a degree? I got my GED a few years ago but I never even considered higher education. Who knows? Maybe I'll go into law. Become a paralegal or a lawyer and work here legitimately."

"You want to be a lawyer?"

"Don't get excited I don't think I'm ready to start swearing on Bibles just yet. But I'm not going anywhere."

"Just…take care of yourself, okay Cassie? If something happens to you – you or Matt – and Karen find out that I knew something about it, she's going to kick my ass." Cassandra grins.

"Would you believe that I said the same thing?"

"Hey, you're a smart kid, and great minds think alike."

"So we good?"

"We're good."

"Awesome, because I need a favor." Thinking about how easy it is to get information on her now that she's resurfaced is making her antsy. Plus, she hasn't been back to the theater in a while and even though she's got herself a temporary home, she doesn't like the idea of anyone moving into her old place, even if it is a dump.

Neither Matt nor Karen object to her taking a half-day, even though Karen burns with nervous energy. Cassandra just waves her off. She's been able to get around on her own for years, and it's only gotten easier since she started meditating.

"Take care of yourself, okay? Don't do anything stupid," Matt whispers as she runs out the door.

"Don't worry sensei, no guns where I'm going." Well, hopefully not. Last time she checked, Ricky wasn't a fan of guns. Then again, they she hasn't seen him in half a year.

"Ricky boy!" Cassandra announces, hurling old bar's doors open. "Mama's home." Ricky's owned the bar for as long as she can remember, and it's always been a safe place. God, it's been too long.

"Cassandra?" Ricky's voice reverberates with surprise. "_Mi amiga_! Where the hell have you been, girl? Got some new shades I see."

"Come on, you know I can't walk around during the daytime with eyes like mine. And I've been laying low, keeping my head down and doing what blind kids do."

"Damn it's been a long time, _chica_," Ricky says, sweeping her into a crushing hug. He smells the same, like booze and cloves. "I've missed you."

"Missed you too, Rick."

"But since it's you, I've got a feeling this isn't a social call. I would say you were here

because you missed my handsome mug, but…"

"Hey, I like the sound of your voice but as usual you're right. I'm cashing in a favor."

"And that would be?"

"Me. I need to disappear."

"You're pretty much off the grid," Ricky hedges, not understanding. "In case you haven't

noticed, all of us pretty much live under the radar."

"I mean my file. You know I'm in the system. Anyone with any kind of law enforcement clearance can have my whole life story. I want to get gone, and you're the only one I know with the skills to do it."

"_Dios mio_, Cassandra. That kind of hack is going to take time."

"Take all the time you need Ricky, but I need it done. I don't want that bullshit hanging over my head for the rest of my life."

"You trying to go legit or something?" he asks. Cassandra rolls her eyes for effect. That's exactly what she's trying to do and she doesn't want anyone looking into her past. And with Perry popping back into her life without warning, Cassandra figures that there's never been a better time to start over. In fact, she should have done this months ago. Especially with his little comment about how certain people would be hearing about her return from the dead. "Cassa, this is some heavy shit. This is hacking a _national governmental database. _I've never tried anything that big before. I don't even have the right equipment and I'm strapped for cash."

"Ricky, I love you, and but you owe me." She can feel his glower but he doesn't argue. He can't argue, not really. She saved his life when the sky exploded and all of that alien shit rained down and destroyed half of Hell's Kitchen. At first, she thought that she had finally gone crazy with everything that her senses were picking up, but when a building was demolished right next to her she took off. She grabbed anyone she could and found a safe place to wait it out. Ricky was one of them. She pulled him out from under a piece of the wreckage that would've crushed him. "How much money we talking? To get the equipment you need to pull this of?"

"Why? You running?"

"Fuck no I got out of that a long time ago." Cassandra was spectacularly bad at taking care of herself when she first ran away from the orphanage. She did anything she could to get by, and that included running jobs for local gangs. Stealing, running interference, whatever she could do to get cash. Gangs that Perry is in contact with. Gangs that very conveniently think that she's dead and some of which never even knew that she's blind. "How much do you need, Rick?"

"Five thousand," Ricky replies. Cassandra swears under her breath.

"You're killing me Ricardo. I don't have that kind of cash."

"Well then we're both shit out of luck aren't we?" Cassandra is halfway inclined to agree with him, something falls off of the bar and shatters, and she drops into a defensive stance. "Damn girl, you learning how to box or something? How's a blind girl learn how to fight?"

"You'd be surprised," Cassandra replies, straightening up. Something occurs to her and she can't help the smile. "You still know the guy who runs the fight ring down at the wharf?"

"Jackson, yeah. Why? What are you thinking about Cassa?"

Cassandra grins. "I think I know how to get the five thousand."

* * *

**So lots of info in this chapter! Tell me what you think 3**


	7. Fight Club

Fights are loud. Impossibly, head-achingly loud. The second she steps into the old building hundreds of voices start screaming in her ears, hundreds of heartbeats thud, sending vibrations spiraling everywhere. The room is teeming with violent energy and it takes Cassandra a minute to sift through it all and push everything aside.

"I set it up," Ricky says. "You're fighting the next round, 20 to 1 that you get your ass kicked." Cassandra smiles.

"I don't know if I should be insulted or thrilled."

"Cassa you sure about this?" Ricky asks for the thousandth time. "You are a tiny tiny person and some of these guys have been fighting for years."

"I can take a hit," Cassandra replies.

"Not from one of them, believe me."

"I wouldn't be fighting if I didn't think I could beat them, Ricky. I'm going to win, you're going to get the cash, and then we're going to get me off of the map. Since when were you a nag?"

"Since I'm the one who's going to have to take you out in a body bag if anything goes wrong. Am I the only one who remembers that you're _blind_?"

"You're right, it slipped my mind. Thank you so very much for reminding me. Come on Rick, when has being blind ever stopped me before?" Whatever he's about to say is cut off by the announcer's voice booming over the loudspeaker, calling in the next two fighters. "That's my cue. Wish me luck Ricky boy."

"Please don't die."

"Your faith is inspiring," Cassandra snarks, ducking into the ring.

"What the hell is this?" the other fighter snarls. Cassandra can't blame him. He's over six feet tall and nearly three times her weight. She's a skinny teenager with a death wish.

"Come on big man, you afraid of someone half your size?" Cassandra taunts. The referee restates the rules and then they're off, circling around the ring. Cassandra matches the big man step for step, listening to his heartbeat and paying close attention to the energy clinging to him like a second skin. She can read his intentions and anticipate his moves before he makes them, which is a very good thing because one good hit from a guy this size could kill her. Rick wasn't wrong about that.

"Would you two stop dancing around and _fight_?" someone from the crowd shouts. Cassandra smirks in the big guy's general direction.

"You heard them," she says. "But hey, I can do this all day if you want to." The man roars and charges at her, swinging wildly. Cassandra sidesteps his blow without so much as ducking, throwing her elbow into his side as she does. She's a small person, so traditional punches won't work to her advantage. Her best bet at doing the most damage is using her elbows and knees. For all of his condescension, Matt really has taught her how to fight by working her size in her favor. In all of the years that she's been scrapping on the streets, Cassandra has been trying to fight like someone twice her size, someone with the height and weight to actually punch someone. Matt taught her how to be quick and fight dirty.

Still, big man barely flinches. It's like a bee stinging a bear, he's simply enormous. She's not worried. Big people get tired, and Cassandra just has to make sure she doesn't get hit before he wears himself down.

"God you're shit at this," Cassandra says flippantly, leaning against the edge of the ring like she hasn't a care in the world. Big man comes at her again and she lands a solid hit at his crotch and lower back before scurrying away again. "I mean, dude. I'm barely five feet tall, not to mention a kid, and a girl. Jesus, don't you have any pride?" Big man swears violently, swinging like a madman. Cassandra loses track of how long it goes on. Fights always feel longer when you're in them than they actually are; something about the adrenaline speeding everything up.

The crowd is furious. It's been several minutes and not one drop of blood has been spilled. Cassandra hasn't been to many of these, but she can imagine that this would be one of the first fights that anyone's seen with so little bloodshed. If anything, it's a little boring. In movies, or the books on tape that Nick used to smuggle out of the library for her, fights were always described as dances: Two partners moving seamlessly, trading blows, always in motion. For Cassandra, they're more like chess. Read your opponent's intentions, and then counter. Over and over again until he gets tired and she makes her move. Patterns form and then she gets cocky.

She gets cocky and the big man gets lucky. A stray fist catches her in the shoulder – her injured shoulder – and Cassandra's world splinters into a jagged mess of pain. She doesn't remember falling, but suddenly she's on her back and the crowd is screaming for her head. The big man is posturing, feeding off of the energy and Cassandra staggers to her feet again. She drives her heel into the backs of his knees and claps her hands over his ears as hard as she can, blowing out his eardrums and shooting his equilibrium to hell. While he's unbalanced, Cassandra throws her elbow into his neck and perches herself on his back, wrapping her arm around his throat. He bucks weakly, but he hadn't been expecting her to suddenly be on the offensive and it takes him a while to respond. Cassandra slams her elbow into the back of his neck, maintaining the chokehold, and slowly but surely, the man passes out.

"I'll be here all week folks," Cassandra says to the crowd, which has gone more silent than it has been all night. She sweeps her sunglasses up from where they'd fallen on the ground and pushes them back on before any of them can see her eyes. She ducks out of the ring and all but falls into Ricky. If she could guess, she'd say that his mouth is wide open with shock.

"Who the hell taught you how to fight like that?" he demands.

"Ricky, I need you to get the cash and meet me at the bar," Cassandra hisses through her teeth.

"What the hell, are you okay?"

"No," Cassandra groans. "Did I mention that I got shot a few days back?" His shocked silence is enough of an answer. "Yeah so that happened. Mr. Hyde up there literally punched through my stitches."

"What does that mean?" Ricky asks. Cassandra rolls her eyes.

"It means you need to get the money and I need to get to the First Aid kit you've got in the bar or I might bleed out, so go."

"Cassa – "

"_Just do it_," Cassandra snaps. "I'll be fine. Meet me back at the bar as soon as you can." Cassandra doesn't give him a chance to answer, shoving her way out of the warehouse and into the open air. She doesn't pause to drink in the stillness, but it instantly feels like a balm in her mind. Note to self: Fight rings are too loud for blind kids with whacked senses.

Unfortunately, Cassandra's so preoccupied with getting to the bar and trying not to bleed to death that she doesn't notice the three guys tailing her until they're only a few feet away.

"Fellas, I've had an exhausting night," Cassandra says, her senses kicking into high gear. She curses herself for not realizing they were there sooner. There's three of them, and she vaguely recognizes their signatures from the fight. None of them are nearly as big as the guy she just fought, but anger rolls off of them in violent waves and she's already dizzy from the blood loss. There's no way she can take all three of them like this. Even if she was at her best, she doesn't know if she could more than two at the same time. She's learned a lot in the last few months, but the fact still is that she's small and three on one isn't something she's equipped for just yet. "If you've got issues with the fight, take it up with Jackson, he's the man in charge."

"He's next," one of them snarls. "And that asshole who helped you rig the fight."

"We want our money back, bitch," another adds. Cassandra scowls. They think she cheated. Of course they do.

"Can't help you. I don't handle my own money, get it? So why don't you all go try to win your cash back and leave me the hell alone." It's the wrong thing to say. The violence in the air explodes to the surface and the man charge her. Cassandra's able to duck away from one of them and land a solid hit before a fist slams into her side and she hisses in pain. Two more blows and she's backed into a corner, holding her hands above her head to shield her face. Her legs are starting to go numb and her hearing is starting to cut in and out at random. Not good.

"You and that guy, you scammin' us?" one of them, the first one, demands, grabbing her chin. She spits at him and he backhands her across the face. Cassandra's head snaps to the side, her glasses flying off and the men gape at the mess of scar tissue and blue iris that make up her eyes. "Jesus Christ."

"Not quite. I've got reliable information that says I'm the devil." The Catholic Church, in fact. Despite her fading senses, one familiar signature pulses close nearby and Cassandra barks out a laugh. "Speaking of." Matt leaps from the fire escape of the building opposite them and makes quick work of the first two guys. The third pulls Cassandra in front of her, wrapping his arm around her neck just like she did in the fight. She can feel consciousness slipping away from her and idly wonders what's going to kill her first: Suffocation or bleeding out. Somehow, Matt forces the third guy to drop her because suddenly she's falling, until Matt catches her and then his face is inches from her own.

"Cassandra, can you hear me?" She can, but that's all. She can't feel anything and the vibrations have gone quiet. "Jesus, Cassandra, what did you do?"

"Get me…to the bar on Weston," Cassandra slurs.

"I need to get you to Claire's." Matt objects.

"Bar. On. Weston!" Cassandra grinds out. "There's a kit there…I'll be okay until we get there." Matt swears and hauls Cassandra into fireman's carry, sprinting down the street. She loses track of time and space, until Matt lays her out on the bar and reality starts to filter back in.

"What were you thinking?"

"Needed the money. My friend is…" She wheezes, feeling like someone is stepping on her chest. "He's gonna take me out of the system…I've got…I've got – "

"Hey, don't try to talk," Matt says. "I'm going to fix you up and then we can talk about how _abysmally _stubborn you are."

"Big word, lawyer man," Cassandra can't help but add. "Just fix me up before Ricky…Ow. Just don't let him catch you." She doesn't even flinch as Matt stiches her up for a third time in a week. She can't hear Ricky's footsteps ringing outside but suddenly Matt sits her up and disappears, somewhere where her weakened senses can't sense him. Which isn't saying much at this point. She can barely feel her own fingers.

"_Dios mio_, Cassa," Ricky says, closing the door behind him. "You look like you're about to keel over and die."

"I'm fine," Cassandra insists. "Did you get the money?"

"Yeah, everything I needed and then some. The betting was way higher than expected."

"Good. Get everything you need… and then get me offline."

"Are you sure you're going to survive the night?" Ricky asks. Even with her weak senses, she can feel his worry. "Seriously, you look terrible." Cassandra manages a weak smile that is more blood than teeth. "Jesus, you were into some rough shit before, but fighting? Getting shot? And sewing yourself back up? You can't even _see_, Cassa, how did you even manage to do that?"

"Picked it up. I'm not going to die overnight, so can I just crash in the back? Sleep it off?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course." Ricky says uncertainly. "Do you want me to stay?"

"No. Get started on the hack."

"Okay… But I better not find your dead body in my bar tomorrow."

"Promise I won't haunt you," Cassandra says with a weak smile. "Go. I'll be okay." Ricky kisses her on the forehead and leaves without another word, though not before pressing a stack of bills into her hand. What's left over from her winnings, she guesses.

"Nice friend," Matt says, coming out from wherever he was hiding. "What were you talking about a hack?"

"Not your problem."

"Cassandra. If you're in danger, let me help you." Matt's words are soft and he doesn't feel angry, not that she has much to go by.

"I'm kind of a pain in the ass," she says, the world starting to fade. "In case you hadn't – " The words fall away and Cassandra tilts off of the bar. Her mind goes blank and silence claims her.

* * *

Cassandra wakes quickly, gasping as everything comes back to her all at once. Every vibration, emotion, sound, and smell hits her all at once and she arches against the weight of it.

"Hey, hey, hey," Matt's voice is suddenly by her side and she can make out his signature through the mess of sensation pounding inside her head. His hand cups the back of her head and he pushes her back down flat. "You're okay."

"I…can't…breathe," Cassandra wheezes, using up the last of her air.

"Filter it all out, just like you've done before. Outside to inside. Do it with me. What's outside this building?" Cassandra furrows her brow, trying to focus. Outside the building isn't much, just some pigeons and a kid riding his bike on the way to somewhere or other. The building itself is almost empty. Just her and Matt in the bar, and the couple that lives in the apartment three floors up. As she peels everything away, layer by layer, Cassandra starts to breathe regularly again. "There you go. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. Come on, you're alright."

"Next time I decide to street fight with a gunshot wound, please knock me out and sit on me until I decide that it's a shit idea."

"Promise." Matt agrees. "Now you tell me why the hell you were fighting in the first place?"

"I need to disappear. I need my file gone, my identity erased on every level." She pauses, and feeling Matt's impatience, continues. He's not going to give this up until she tells him the truth and he'll know if she lies. "I pissed off some bad people when I was on my own," Cassandra admits finally. "Played two rival gangs against each other to keep myself alive and they found out. So I had to fake my own death so that they would stop trying to find me."

"But now that you've resurfaced, they could come looking for you again."

"And you might be able to take care of yourself, but Karen and Foggy are civilians. If Perry tells anyone that I'm alive, it'll lead right back to them. This was the only way I could think of to keep them out of it. Ricky's good with computers, but he needed money for the equipment. So I decided that fighting a guy twice my size was a great idea."

"You're an idiot."

"I know," Cassandra says. "And you're taking this very well. You're not acting all pissy or passive aggressive. What gives?" She can feel Matt's smile and it only adds to the confusion.

"You're trying to keep them safe," Matt says. "And that makes you our idiot." Cassandra bites her lip, feeling tears welling in the corners of her eyes and they're not from the pain. "And how about we let you heal up a little before you decide to beat on someone other than me, okay?" No arguments there. She'd like to be able to breathe without her ribs hurting or her shoulder twinging with pain. That would be a refreshing and much-needed change of pace. "And hey, if this is what you look like, I'd hate to see the other guy."

"Oh Christ, now you're punning the blindness? You're worse than Foggy."

"Come on, I saw an opening and I took it."

"You're horrible," Cassandra says, but she's laughing. She expected anger, rage, disappointment. Not care and jokes. "Thanks sensei."

Matt ruffles her hair. "You got it kid."

* * *

**As always, I love hearing from you all, so keep the reviews coming!**


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